


Checking Twice

by GumTree



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Christmas, Alternate Universe, F/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, is angst a tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-09-13 20:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9141937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GumTree/pseuds/GumTree
Summary: Renly's laughter startled her, just loud enough that she hastily looked about to see if anyone in the crowd was watching their small spectacle, even as their southron guests passed the Candied Gate. “Spirits be kind, Brienne, just remember what we talked about and all will be well.”She couldn't help the sound she made at the memory: Lannisters are more naughty than nice, as pretty and prickly as holly. Overgrown cats that prefer to be left alone. Stay away, and they will eventually come to you. Even so, pray they do not and betray nothing.Brienne had thought Renly to be joking, until he whispered a slander so terrible she'd shoved him away in her haste to escape it.





	1. Cersei Claus Is Comin' to Town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikkiM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/gifts).



> This fic was written for ikkiM (sweeter than she'll ever know) as part of the Secret Santa challenge at JB.com. The "randomizer" gave me her name, but the three words she selected to be incorporated were: breeze, sneeze, and squeeze. 
> 
> Personally, at this point, I think she got screwed, but I'd like to thank her for lots -- at the very least for telling me that JB people can be found other places. Merry Christmas, Mikks! (And a happy shout-out to blameless openmouthwideeyes who selflessly provided endless non-judgmental support in this endeavor.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After decades of unrest reaching from the south, the North Pole has declared Robert Baratheon its new Santa Claus and seeks to mend ties by opening its gates to the Lannisters. Santa's head elf, Brienne, has vowed to do all that she can to facilitate this fragile peace.

“It’s true then, what they say about the Northern Queens,” Cersei breathed, moved through her private chambers gentle as Spring. Waning sunlight passed through the curtains just to kiss her golden curls and lashes as a cold breeze promised snowflakes that would similarly catch her twin. It was his unlikely voice and his memory that whispered to Brienne now, reminded her to hold her tongue in front of her lady and charge, the daughter of the great Tywin Lannister, the only man with enough power and pride to consider the beloved figurehead of Santa Claus to be a willful and self-proclaimed ‘King-in-the North.’

“You are quite young and fair for a Mrs. Claus, Your Grace,” Brienne said, slowly enough so that her tongue did not stumble over the foreign title and hoped the other woman might be pleased with the effort, then lowered her gaze. Her knees clenched under the dark blue velvet of her lap and the treasure she dutifully guarded within. The jewel-encrusted silver Brienne quietly cradled was carefully wrought and trailed yards of glistening fabric as delicate as any sugarplum fairy; it weighed her down terribly.

Brienne only had to wait for the ceremony to begin, and then she would be free. The skin of her bare neck prickled uncomfortably in the silence; she did not remember when the soft rustle of Cersei’s gown had stopped. Brienne would not look; to even suspect such a woman, the very vision of a Christmas bride, was watching anything other than her own reflection in the vanity glass would be laughable.

“If only you’d polish my crown as well as you do my brother’s sword.”

 _Stupid elf –_ Brienne heard the words as clearly as though Jaime had spoken, saw them echoed in Cersei’s eyes the instant they caught her gaze in the mirror.

 

***       *       *       *       *       *  
**

  

Renly was the most honorable man she knew, but sometimes he gossiped worse than the ladies of _the Village_ who, even now, whispered together their crimson cloaks trimmed in white. It was almost like they were already wearing Lannister red, Brienne thought. Or was the color Lannister gold -- or both? Brienne gripped Bobtail’s reigns through her frost-bitten mittens and tried to recall what else that Renly had told her in confidence. Brienne found it difficult to determine which details were just plain silly or what might seem unimportant but could somehow hold consequence with these peculiar guests that were as rare and important as gemstones, riding to them all the way from the south. Now that they were both grown, Brienne stood more than a few inches taller than Renly, though she sat only slightly higher in a saddle. Today she was grateful for her ridiculous stature as an elf that allowed her to easily able to see over the enormous crowd that had gathered to catch a glimpse of Robert’s bride-to-be with eyes green as ivy, lips red as holly berries and, not silver of hair but tumbling waves of gold. But it was the glint of silver armor in the winter sunlight that caught Brienne’s eye and made heart begin to keep pace with the thrum of the distant hoof beats of the rapidly approaching procession.

_Spirits be kind, she could not take her eyes from them._

It was all she could do to not reach blindly for Renly, squeeze his arm with her one hand and point to the silver knights that rode over their snows like something magicked from a storybook. There was a swift tug on her sleeve. Brienne turned to the regal young man mounted quietly at his side, his gaze fixed only on the gate. Brienne waited for an explanation, but he sat dull as a stone, as though nothing had happened – as though nothing important were happening to them all today in the capital of the North. He had scarcely spoken to her since inviting her to guard this morning, an honor which had scattered the few words she had for him with regret. A question balled on Brienne’s tongue but she would not ask.

“You were smiling,” Renly said quietly.

Brienne instantly became conscious of the residual ache in her cheeks and flushed in the knowledge that it wouldn’t have been like the small, regretful smile Renly wore now but must have been utterly obnoxious. Brienne pushed downward at her guilt in assuming Renly was the one acting like a child and, instead, tried to school her expression into something more appropriate for the occasion – perhaps solemn.

Renly's laughter startled her, just loud enough that she hastily looked about to see if anyone in the crowd was watching their small spectacle, even as their southron guests passed the Candied Gate. “Spirits be kind, Brienne, just remember what we talked about and all will be well.”

She couldn't help the sound she made at the memory: _Lannisters are more naughty than nice, as pretty and prickly as holly. Overgrown cats that prefer to be left alone. Stay away, and they will eventually come to you. Even so, pray they do not and betray nothing._

Brienne had thought Renly to be joking, until he whispered a slander so terrible she'd shoved him away in her haste to escape it. Although, her guilt returned at that particular memory; she was far stronger than Renly, after all.  Brienne leaned in as close as she dared to whisper, not entirely convinced the citizens she had sworn to serve wouldn’t hear her speaking behind their backs. “They will be our—your, your family now, belonging to all the North. These people are _thrilled_.”

But whatever small smile Renly had was gone. His gaze was fixed solely on the procession that cleared their gate. The crowd began to thrum in time with the ground and, slowly, the certainty Brienne felt began to melt into a puddle of wariness that was more bothersome than the cold. She quickly looked to Robert, Renly’s eldest brother standing with a wide berth at the center of his people. She looked to the beautifully crafted sleigh that he had commissioned for his bride, trimmed in gold and harnessed to eight of his finest stags and tried to take comfort in the lovely gesture. Although Robert was still growing into the mantle of Santa Claus, he was not a lackwit. He had love for his city and would continue to represent them well. He had love for Cersei Lannister, and he would show her their pristine snow-crusted plains, the sparking Gum Drop Pass, Snowflake Lake, and every other offering as beautiful as she. Together they would tour the city and all its districts, greeting all those who could not attend the wedding.

_There would be a wedding._

They had planned it for months, had beautifully converted the grand toyshop as the venue, and what a splendid sight it was to behold. She, herself, had strung countless silk blossoms, draped garlands from the staircase, and hung countless baubles on more than one tree wherever and whenever no other elf could reach. Behind all of this, Brienne thought, there must be love – the thought her assurance. She did not know if their new Mrs. Claus would be immediately taken with her citizens, but she would see soon enough the love here. She would see how citizens already drank hot cocoa to her health – and if there was anything at all that Brienne could do to ease the transition, on her honor as head elf, she would. She decided that Renly had no true reason to not smile, even as her knights now swarmed the crowd and could see their silvery armor had golden trim, little golden lions. Some, if not all carried weapons they would never use against the north, and suddenly the surrounding crowd erupted into cheer, so loud that Brienne feared it would spook the horses.

Renly caught her with one arched brow, and Brienne realized that she must have looked back to him at some point and been staring. He opened his mouth to speak and whatever he might say, even so close, Brienne hoped she could hear. Renly mouthed the words to her instead: _Trust me._

It was many hours later, deep into the night and in a blind retreat that Brienne clung to those words like a child. She cursed her stupidity, her heavy footfalls, the tinkling golden bells of her uniform as she ran. For all these things and the sound of blood rushing in her ears, she could not tell if she was being followed. At the end of the hallway, she frantically thought, if she could just make it there. It was where she would make her last stand, if he did not let her in. Brienne trembled in front of the door to Renly’s chambers. She had already lost the last of her pride and now knocked as loudly as she dared. She did not waste the time she waited to turn to see if a monster still pursued her in the dark or to try the door handle. It had been locked for years, since the last time Brienne had come to him as a foolish young girl after a bad dream and seen Ser Loras, who hadn’t been half as vicious as being discovered as—

“Brienne?”

She didn’t think it was possible to flush any further but still felt a wave of heat in her face. Renly rubbed his eye with the striped sleeve of his striped nightshirt and brushed away the puffed ball of his matching cap. Slowly, his sleepy irritation shifted to concern.

_Don’t make me say it... Please._

But there was no more time, and Brienne reminded herself that her own shattered hopes for their city would be nothing compared to what the news would do to poor Robert’s heart. She could barely speak through the thickness of her throat. “You didn’t lie—I, I saw them, they were—I’m so sorry—“

She was still choking on her words when Renly grasped her wrist and pulled her, stumbling, across the moonlit threshold. She sagged in fatigue and relief at the sound of Renly bolting the door. Brienne resisted the urge to pull Renly back and deeper into the safety of his chambers as though Jaime Lannister, himself, could come bursting through the wooden barrier. She stiffened to hear the beginnings of a tired chuckle.

“It’s not funny!” she quietly hissed, her trembling fingers raking nervously through her bird’s nest hair. “I think he’s—he fell.”

To his character, Renly stopped laughing as she tried to collect her wits. She was not so young anymore to have run here, but now that she was she needed to speak up. She was head elf, trustworthy, diligent, and more cheerful than expected despite her unfortunate appearance. Brienne sighed. She was a coward that, when offered in between so many questions, curled herself on the large bed like a child of five years. Renly yawned, laid beside her and, in that moment, they were both as they had once been at that tender age when Stannis whispered horror bedtime stories of _snorks_ and _grunions_ in the south. Those nights, Renly would lie next to Brienne like this, but she was the brave protector. She was too small for a sword but a candy cane with its end broken to a point had never failed them. Even then Brienne knew that she owed nearly all she had to the Baratheons and would never forget. Tonight, she thanked the spirits above that Renly’s kind heart had never changed and he was still her best friend, even if she wasn’t his. Brienne’s lashes fluttered against her pillow as a warm comfort settled over them both. All was quiet in Santa’s keep but for the small bells that jingled on her uniform as she shifted.

“I told you, Robert already knows,” Renly murmured, “It’s politics.”

Brienne curled around herself more tightly.

“It’s his disgrace, not yours.”

Brienne did not ask Renly if he referred to Robert or his bride’s golden twin brother.

“He’s not hurt, Brienne, or we’d already know. What spirit possessed you?”

Brienne scowled in the dark. How could he be so flippant – how could there be a wedding – how could she protect anyone she loved when nothing made sense? She had not wanted to go. “Robert sent me. Milk and cookies for Lady Cersei. But, if he already knew… _Why_?”

Renly was silent for many moments, his voice carefully controlled when he thought to answer. “My brother knows the spirits did not bless him with an even-temper such as yours, or even mine. I will remind him to be more grateful of this come morning.”

“You will not. The North has suffered enough," Brienne said, then suspected the shifting she felt was his nod.

“Tell me what happened?”

So, she did.

A tray of cookies with fat chocolate chips and two glasses of milk to quench his bride’s thirst is what Robert had instructed her to bring. The door was just scarcely unlatched. Brienne knew she should have called out, should not have entered without permission – she should have never seen the arch of Cersei Lannister’s back, the form of her brother pressed so close. How Brienne wished they had never seen her! Lady Cersei had gone as pale as the milk that splattered to the floor in the crash, her fumbling of the tray. And the look on Ser Jaime’s face – if such a man could ever be a knight – she prayed to forget. Brienne did not know exactly what the man intended to do when his sister began to screech, if he had actually thought to apprehend her or what he might do if successful – to run had been instinct. He had slipped in the mess by the door, and the sound his body made against the hardwood floor was also something Brienne wished she could forget. She turned to hear him moan, this time from pain, and just could not stay.

By the end of her tale, Renly quaked with laughter. Brienne clutched a pillow tightly to her chest to prevent herself from smothering the only friend she had as she turned to face him. At least after all these years she was immune to his infectious smile. Now was not the time. Carefully and patiently, Renly reiterated all he had tried to tell her before, what he knew to be truth, what he suspected was rumor, and what could be a bit of both. Brienne shuddered to hear how much Renly thought was true. “He’s going to lose everything. He must love her,” she whispered.

Renly snorted. “You’re too young to remember Robert swearing off all but food and his right hand, and the North will hear nothing of it. Lord Tywin can use good ol’ Stannis Claus as much as we need him. Though, our food stores help.”

“I meant Ser Jaime—or … not-a-knight-anymore… whatever they call him,” she said with a frown. _And they would find more than one unkind name._

Renly shrugged. “Who am I to judge?” 

Brienne held her tongue long as she could. “Is it true he wears a golden hand? His father chopped it off so that he might never touch Lady Cersei again?” She immediately felt ridiculous for asking such a terrible question, even worse for trying to both recall and forget, in equal parts, the coupling she had witnessed to determine if she had seen the answer. “…Renly?”

"Not going so well, then, is it?”

Brienne’s horrified gasp was drowned by that of the pillow she now wielded again and again against Renly’s back, the hands that covered his head, and his hunched shoulders that quaked with laughter. “Yield, yield! I’m sorry! I yield!”

 

***       *       *       *       *       *  
**

 

_She wanted to stay._

Jaime rested his weight on his good hand against the surface of his quarter’s dressing table. Too soon, Cersei would be marrying the jolly oaf that had once been Robert Baratheon, before the North had done all but build a wall to shield itself from the plights of the south. He wondered if any of the elves had seen Robert’s old warhammer, or perhaps the former Santa Claus as no one wanted to talk about what happened to him. 

He looked to the mirror attached and was hard-pressed to find any traces of his better half. When Jaime would look at Cersei, he still saw the most beautiful woman in what had once been Westeros, the only woman he ever had and ever would love as he did. But when Cersei looked at her own reflection… he didn’t know what she saw any longer: the threat of age, perhaps; the golden duties of being a Lannister; the shame of being caught with him now more than once. Jaime wasn’t certain if his sweet sister had trembled more the first time father had caught them in such a compromising situation or after the white-haired man had brokered the absurd engagement. Cersei’s frightened words still rang through his mind -- _“The North Pole! Overrun by stunted, point-eared monsters that never catch cold!”_ Understandably, their father had provided Jaime neither the time nor any opportunity to attempt to comfort his sister prior to their leaving home. The first chance had been about three days ago, just before Robert had gifted him a great and lumbering elf with just sense enough to vanish.

She _couldn’t possibly be an elf._

Of course, he couldn’t be entirely sure as such creatures never left the North Pole, the _great Christmas_ city, and until this brief excursion, Jaime had never been. She would be the first he had ever seen, towering over the crowd in her yuletide motley as the bridal processional arrived. Immediately, Robert had insisted on taking Cersei into his ridiculous open sleigh, abandoning his guests and leaving Jaime torn as to whether he should feel more pity towards the single horse tethered to pull the fat man or the unfortunate creature mounted alongside Renly Baratheon – one of two unarmed riders charged to lead their honored guests to their lodgings. Either the North Pole was as obscenely innocent as he’d heard or they were just plain stupid. But he could not doubt her sex; little golden bells had seen to that. Jaime saw them when he closed his eyes, heard them still in fitful dreams. They had jingled all the way from the city gates to Santa’s house. They had jingled from the she-elf’s ridiculous hat, dangled from jagged valleys of her fool’s collar. They glinted and tinkled, wickedly sewn into obscene hemline of her dress that remained hiked closer to her hips than knees as she rode astride with ease. Her strong thighs and long legs were dressed like candy, wrapped by striped stockings of red and white. Jaime did not realize he had temporarily forgotten the ache in his heart until the memory of Cersei’s mocking voice reached him more: _monsters that never catch cold._ Indeed.

Neither elf nor monster so much as unfortunate creature, or maiden, Jaime thought, and the more he puzzled about it, the more he was certain. When he did manage to dream of Cersei, it was of their last, too-brief night together: his nose buried in her long golden hair, his cock in her cunt, and ending with a gasp from the opened doorway that was louder than Cersei’s stifled pleasure and no less feminine. Jaime was grateful the dream did not continue to the troublesome noise of the elf’s proffered tray and contents crashing to the floor, of Cersei shouting at her by his ear or the rest. He preferred not to remember the chase that ended when he slipped on the cookie crumbs and spilled milk over the threshold. Even worse, at one point he could swear that she turned around, a wild-eyed creature in the moonlight tempted to see how badly the crippled lion had hurt himself until she thought better of it. Those long legs had carried her far away and to gods-knew-where little bells tinkling along the way. In truth, avoiding him was likely the smartest thing Jaime had seen anyone do in the north, since his arrival. If he were a better man, he may even thank her for it – if he could find her.

Considering her size, it might have been a good fight. Jaime thought back to their brief mini trek by horse, the width of her shoulders, the straight line of her back as she rode aside Renly Baratheon, no doubt the stronger of the two, yet constantly looking his way. Perhaps she fancied the little christmas-blossom or herself as his guard. Perhaps her job was to protect all the smaller-sized elves from the new Mrs. Claus that had cursed them during half the ride from old King’s Landing. Jaime snorted at the idea of an Elvesguard, but he’d heard more outlandish rumors as a boy. Some said the North Pole was founded by a failed red priest that found a powerful magic in his old age, enough to stop him from gaining years but not to regain wasted use or the proper use of his cock. He declared himself Claus, took an old widow as his consort, and together they knitted ridiculous jingle-bell clothes for the Children of the Winter Forest, amassed an army. There was also some business about glowing outcasts, flying stags, and a nasty green grumpkin that lived on the uppermost mountain with its mistreated dog. Tyrion knew the old stories better than Jaime did.

  
Cersei had heard worse, yet had stepped down from the wheelhouse and into the winter snow with grace and her head held high the morn of their arrival. Later that night, she’d returned with Robert in the same fashion, bewitched by tour-by-sleigh of the capital and its districts, the crowds that continued to cheer. She did not love Robert, but it did not matter.  _“You would deny me this tiniest warmth? Robert grows round, but they treat him as King, and I am the most beautiful woman they have ever seen,”_ Cersei had whispered with a smile he had not seen since they were children. _“Well then, I should be their Queen.”_

_She left him – alone. Again._

“M-Mister Lannister?”

His worthless cloak, reduced to little more than formal wear, heaved with the force of his sigh, not that the poor lad would notice.

_Podrick did not count – a pity for them both, really._

“What h-happened next? In the story?”

Jaime straightened himself all the same and offered his best attempt at a winning smile to the second elf that Robert had sent to his chambers – at least this one had brought food more befitting a lord and a taste for wine. He waited until the boy began to squirm in his seat at the small guest table. “I fought him, of course. Eight-feet tall or no, he had gone stark-raving mad.” His smile faltered. “I was the best we had left.”

The starry-eyed look in Pod’s eyes became clouded with a look Jaime found sickening. “I’m—“

“Don’t.”

He walked to the table and ghosted over its carafe of wine with the fingertips of his right hand. Jaime wondered what the touch might have felt like now, without his glove. He couldn’t help but note that Robert had sent him two glasses again — how thoughtful.   Jaime’s glass remained overturned and unused as he considering once more topping off Podrick's. It was his pride that stopped him rather than lack of ability.

“You’re tall for an elf. That’s good,” he soothed as the boy’s face fell, “makes it easier to fight. Are there any others like you?

Podrick shook his head slowly, causing the small bells he wore to tinker quietly. He took a long drink, then leaned into the table so that Jaime had to stoop to hear him properly. “We’re not s’pposed to fight. She teaches me anyway. She’s like you. Big, blonde… Lonely, I think.” 

Jaime forced a sweet smile. “Tell me more.”

 

***       *       *       *       *       *  
**

 

 

Brienne closed her eyes, suspended part-way between the tallest ladder could find and the largest tree they had ever erected indoors. Pine needles and the edge of a strange seven-point star dug into her right hand.  _I’m not tall enough,_ she thought without enough breath to laugh or knowing how she would place the shining piece she held upon the highest bough.

Even if she could find Podrick or any of the smaller elves that she doubted would come to her aid, it wouldn’t do any of them much good. Their first tree had been the finest Christmas tree that Brienne had ever seen, painstakingly and lovingly trimmed for the ceremony in a rainbow of lights and hand-crafted ornaments.  Lady Cersei had practically wilted at the sight and ordered the beautiful centerpiece to be unceremoniously stripped. Brienne had to look away when Robert came to drag the remains from his converted workshop. Her brow furrowed as an odd noise, soft, persistent, and far too close if she had been paying attention, began to permeate her senses. It sounded like tinkering matched with footfalls too heavy and sound for an elf. The needles bit into both her hands now, as she struggled to regain the balance necessary to separate herself from the tree. In the time that took her, the noise was replaced with the very familiar jingling of bells from the base of her ladder, followed by one soft jolt through the wood, perhaps two -- hands taking hold of her precarious perch. Gooseflesh raised under her sleeves.

“Brienne of the Elvesguard!”

She nearly dropped the ornament, his words meeting her as soundly as physical contact. “Of the-- Don’t be ridiculous!”

Brienne chanced a glance downward, oddly relieved that they were alone so that no one else had witnessed her loss of composure. Jaime Lannister met her gaze with his golden head cocked to the side and a tiny golden bell settling by his ear. Brienne flushed to realize he was wearing her uniform’s hat, which she’d lost that terrible night. The green did nothing for his eyes which seemed to say their owner could imagine no one more ridiculous than her. Brienne did her best to match his contemptuous stare, far more concerned with his lack of his lack of honor rather than what he thought of her looks.   He was wearing his silver and gold again, she knew, though she was hardly able to tell one armored man from the next as they all wore helms. She became uneasy in the realization that part of her debated whether Jaime Lannister or his armor was more pleasing to her eye. It clinked softly as he took a few more steps backward from her ladder. His white, princely cloak shifted with the movement and even that seemed to suit him when Brienne thought to the kingly manner with which his father carried himself and had ridden into the north.

Above all else, Brienne was transfixed by his hand. Jaime Lannister’s right hand slowly moved towards the sword that boldly jutted from his left hip. Brienne held her breath, wondered if his glove was hiding a piece of golden shame or fingers of flesh that would curl about the hilt and force her to stop staring like a boor. His came to rest on the pommel as gentle as a snowflake. His stance was otherwise lazy, but his even voice was no less than a silken command.  “Come down from there.”

“I’m bigger than you.”

Brienne did not know what possessed her to say so, but she was taller and heavier than most at the North Pole; it was likely true, regardless. It was only fair to warn the obviously impulsive man, though Brienne doubted it would do her much good -- her words so rarely ever did. Something unknown to her flashed across the Lannister’s handsome face – a spark that traveled from his eyes to the white gleam of his teeth, growing more visible the longer she waited.

He nodded. “Bigger than any elf, wench, or craven I’ve seen. It must be your legs, excellent for running.”

Brienne clenched her teeth, suddenly unsure of how she was going to descend without damaging the Lady Cersei’s golden star or golden brother, who stood at the bottom of the ladder in the fashion of someone who was preparing to climb up. She would get no decency from him, no peace, she knew. She would need to make time for him, armor, white teeth, sword, dishonor and all.

“Then _move_.”


	2. Down In Yon Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm fairly certain, as much as I've re-read this, there's not anything to warn for... At some point, just after the New Year, the characters decided to flash me the wrong half of a peace sign and ... well, there's not anything I can think to warn for except there's apparently going to be a chapter three, which will not be titled, "The Fucks that Would not Fuck." On second thought, warning for language.

“Where are you taking me?” Jaime asked, eyeing the forest of peppermint at the end of the scenic winter trail with suspicion.

They were far past the point of crossing any other two-legged creatures, and the few they had come across feigned not to notice them or had scurried away – she cringed with each encounter. Their journey was as silent as it was curious. The giant she-elf spent its majority primly leading him like a prisoner or charge, though he freely followed.  It occurred to Jaime that, had anyone been watching, it would appear to them that their roles had reversed at some point during their trek.  His elf still walked ahead but now with her chin tucked her chest.  She had huddled her formidable shoulders inward, and stuffed her large pink hands into the over-sized pockets of her silly, red dress – again, little bells jingling all the way.

Jaime frowned at the continued silence. They could have enjoyed an amicable discussion within the warm confines of Santa’s precious workshop, but the proud elf had insisted they take things outdoors. He had goaded her easily enough into leaving without her silly jester’s cap, at least.  His boots stamped at the regret that began to rise when he remembered how the elf had asked for a moment of his patience to find her “mittens” that had been lost within the mounds of decorations at their feet, how he had laughed at her for it only to discover there was no fun in pursuing an already wounded creature.  It was colder than Jaime remembered, when he traveled towards the workshop.  He would suggest they turn back, if they hadn’t already made it this far and he wasn’t so damn curious as to what she intended to do.  He followed her deeper into the woods than any noble man should, into a clearing flanked by tall, striped trees that smelled of mint.  This was the place that young Podrick had described.  Jaime remained still in one corner of the clearing and watched Brienne walk to the other.  He raised an eyebrow to see her rummage on the ground, from where she retrieved an old wooden sword.  Gods only knew where she had found the relic or had even managed to keep it for herself in the ever-peaceful North Pole.

“Do you even know how to use that thing?”

She drew a slow semi-circle over the frosted ground with her sword’s tip, then planted it into the ground.  She appeared to be waiting, and if that was a tremble Jaime saw, he doubted it was from the cold.  But it was her wary gaze that caught him off guard, so very blue that Jaime had a sudden and fleeting thought that Brienne’s eyes could be the most beautiful thing in the north.  Even if it was only because Cersei did not truly belong in this wretched place, so she did not count.  On that thought, Jaime slowly began to unsheathe his sword, and the silent hiss of steel almost enough to chastise him for his fantasies. It did not matter that his right hand and wrist were still too weak to wield it properly; he doubted either blonde-haired woman would recognize the difference or care.

But this one still waited for him, with wide blue eyes. When she didn’t look away, Jaime smirked.  “Would you like me to teach you, Brienne?”

It wasn’t until he sat steeped in a hot private bath, many hours later, that he began to count his bruises and then to re-think his approach -– and his elf.  Jaime had nearly choked on his wine when Podrick let it slip that the big elf had a sword hidden somewhere or another – she hadn’t denied it, either.  He couldn’t say what possessed him to propose that she let him see it, why he challenged her – an exchange of secrets, he’d said.  Then, she could consider the debt paid for his bruised ass in pride.  He’d honestly expected her to run, not lead him to her and Podrick’s secret playground.  Certainly not to retrieve a second rickety sword for him from the cover of the minty underbrush. They’d sparred for hours – if you could call it that – or at least until they had both missed supper with Santa.  Jaime wasn’t certain if it was that no one had noticed their absence or that no one cared that they were missing for so long, or whether he should feel more amused, relieved, or annoyed at the fact.

Brienne hadn’t asked of his right hand and had only stared long enough for Jaime to switch to sparring with his left to spite her. It was something he had toyed with in private, in case he would ever completely lose usage of his right. His instincts were all wrong, but Brienne was vastly untrained and would never know the difference.  Still, she did have a certain grace with a sword, and he had enjoyed watching her move, almost as much as uncovering the soft spots and gaping wounds in her defenses.  In hindsight, he ought to practice holding his tongue as well.  Podrick, the young elf that Brienne had taken under her wing, had not a wise topic for him to choose, how he plied him with drink. Renly had been an even worse choice, an unfortunate and careless stab in the dark as Jaime fished deeper for information, despite being too tired – even then – to understand his fascination.

_“He can’t fight worth shit, you know. You’re not much better.” The force of his thrust knocked her sword to the ground. Rather than advance with his blade, Jaime cocked his head to the side, curious even in his mocking.  “If needs be, how would you keep him alive?”_

Jaime hadn’t stopped her; he’d been too surprised.  One moment, Brienne was backing from him slowly, as though he’d stabbed her with live steel.  The next, she charged him with a battle cry, her arms wrapping recklessly about his armored form, and he was thanking the gods for the snow-filled bushes that lessened the impact of their fall.

_By the gods, she was strong._

She was heavier than she looked, and, at least to Renly, as loyal as any commander could dream.  Still, she would have made a shit knight, he thought.  When they’d stood, it was her blood that stained the snowy ground and brought them both to some semblance of their senses. Brienne was lucky that her nose hadn’t been broken, though Jaime suspected she would have worn the injury as a badge of Baratheon honor. It was a pity that no one noticed her, conspicuous as she was, missing that evening.  Jaime wondered if her precious Renly would even care.  The next morning, Jaime decided to break his fast by partaking in one of the communal meals that he’d missed.  Like supper, Santa, his elves, and honored guests would dine together in a nicely polished hall.  It was a feast of sweets, long tables filled with enough to rot the teeth of all the world’s children.  Jaime lingered long enough to pluck a candy cane from one of the glistening trays.  It was long, striped, and reminded him of Brienne’s legs; he thought he knew just where to find her, then.  

“Elf!” Jaime called upward, from the base of the sparkling tree in the center of the workshop.  He was not surprised to find her alone, though she was perched atop a much taller ladder this time.  A large seven-pointed star graced the top of her project, but the remainder of the limbs were bare.  Jaime frowned to see a larger mess strewn about on the floor than yesterday.  He almost stepped upon a box of delicate bulbs and picked them up.  They were a different shade than those that Brienne had begun to hang last night, after Jaime had escorted her back to the work she insisted on finishing prior to preparing for bed. “What in the seven hells happened here?”

Brienne began to descend the ladder so quickly that Jaime grasped its sides as courtesy, unwilling to witness the impact the absurd woman would make on the ground this time, without either armor or snow as protection.  He took the necessary steps backward to allow her dismount, and his hands raised in surrender as she swiftly turned on him with blue eyes blazing and pale hair a shuffled mess.  Jaime told himself to wait and was soon rewarded when she could not contain her… whatever emotion this was.  “She hates us,” Brienne quietly hissed.

“Who, Cersei?”  But he already knew. His sweet sister did not often see the benefit of kindness to strangers, let alone those beneath her, least of all dwarves and elves.  It was possible that Brienne was right.  “You did walk in on her, without knocking.”  

Brienne’s cheeks turned redder than Robert’s nose.  “You’re both terrible people."

“Watch your mouth,” Jaime said, any warmth he’d begun to feel dissipating.  He could scarcely come to terms with having to leave Cersei in the north as it was, let alone listen to such filth so freely spoken from such an unfortunate creature.

Brienne’s lip trembled with the force of her answering glare.  “Go elope with Lady Cersei, or don’t.  But you will leave Podrick alone.”

“Stupid, lumbering elf, I warned you.” Jaime had no mind for nonsense concerning the lad.  He didn’t realize how far he’d advanced on Brienne until she laughed, a sound somewhere between a bark and a sob.  Her hand almost struck him as it flew out form her in a graceless arc as she gestured about the grand room.

“He’s only a boy, Jaime!  So tall they already laugh, but whatever _you_ said to him... He thought he had a friend until your sister told him otherwise!”

“It’s barely been a day,” Jaime said, as calmly as he could.  He was taken aback by her bizarre accusations almost as much as the overly-familiar usage of his name, how something unknown jolted within him to hear her cry it aloud.  “Bonds are rarely formed so quickly.  Don’t tell me you were also this foolish?”

She turned away from him then, holding her shoulders tight.  Her voice sounded like it was in the same condition.  “I don’t know what either of you said to Pod or the other elves because they won't talk to me either.  I only know she wants me to re-decorate.  So, if you’re not going to help…” 

Brienne was obviously waiting for him to leave.  Jaime regarded her quietly, unsure of what to say or if he cared to say anything at all.  Part of him doubted that Cersei would spare the time or inclination to say scarcely more than two words to the skittish girl or any other elf, but they would likely not have been kind. He sighed. “If you can’t handle her now, a mere jittery bride, then why are you head elf?  Do you think your service will be rewarded with a place at the ceremony?  She won’t invite you, though that's just was well.  Next to Cersei, you’d look…” Jaime trailed, as he had no desire to be cruel.

“Hideous,” Brienne parroted dully. “An unfortunate thing, as worthless to the Lannisters as any other speck of snow, but it is almost Christmas.  So, I may stand in the back if there is room.”  Brienne heaved a long-suffering sigh, either refusing or unable to look at him; Jaime couldn't tell which prospect inexplicably bothered him the most. “The only thing I ever asked was permission to do my duty.  Please leave." 

Without words, Jaime did.

 

***       *       *       *       *       *  
**

 

Brienne didn’t think she would ever see Jaime again, not even at the wedding.  Part of her had wished she would not, but when Jaime came through the door with Podrick, whose eyes were almost as red as the new box of bulbs she had opened, she only felt relief.  She suspected that, if her arms weren’t so heavy form hanging and stringing decorations all day, she might have pulled at least one of them into a tired embrace.  Wordlessly, they joined her efforts, and work that had taken her so long since morning began to flourish as they worked the tree, then the rest of the room in tandem.  During this time, Brienne did not ask Jaime how he managed to find Pod, let alone convince him to once more help in the wedding preparations.  In return, Jaime did not speak one nasty word as he helped string garland, place boughs of holly, and do everything in between.  By the time they finished, it was well past suppertime, but Jaime insisted that the three of them not yet part – something silly about Lannister debts and wine.  Podrick followed Jaime easily, as though all were right with the world.  Although Brienne walked in almost a haze of satisfaction that they had somehow completed everything and to proper specifications, she followed much more cautiously. Brienne stood obstinately in front of Jaime’s open chamber door, a firm grip on Pod’s elbow to prevent him from entry. 

Jaime stood just within the threshold, looking for all the world like an innocent boy and as tired as any of them. “What’s the matter?”

Brienne chewed at her lips, futilely searched for words that would not offend, break this tender truce. “You are still a strange man,” she said quietly, although the walls were thick and it was unlikely they would be overheard. 

Inexplicably, Jaime smiled at her.  The difference between his countenance now and the morning really was like night and day. “Yes, but you are a strange elf.  I mean no harm.  I only wish a place to talk without cold snow and countless ornaments.  Pod trusts me.”

Brienne did not ask how this came to be.  She looked to Podrick who squirmed in her grip, even as Jaime came to lazily lean against the door frame.    

“You’ve been before.  Don’t you remember this is where we first met?” he asked gently. 

Brienne glared and shook as though that could chase away all the memories.  No, that had been Lady Cersei’s chambers, Robert had told her so.  But the direction from which they had traveled to get here, and accounting that the wing to visit Renly was so close…  Brienne blanched.  She hadn’t realized the direction, and Jaime had no reason to lie, not about this.  Her cheeks flared to realize that she had never been sent to feed cookies to Lady Cersei, instead Robert had knowingly directed her to the chambers of a man she’d never met.  A man he suspected would be busy---in….

“That… that… _cad!_ ” she hissed and then prayed to the spirits that the floor would open and swallow her tired body. 

“I’m sorry, elf,” Jaime said in a tone that made her want to see his face.  There was no mocking there.  “But that’s not what I wanted to properly apologize for.  Come inside.”

Jaime locked his door just as Renly had, and somehow Brienne felt that no harm could come to them here, not tonight.  She had drunk wine before but never anything this good.  Although she was larger, she made sure to drink slower than her counterparts, as she was already sitting comfortably on the floor with her back against the wall and her long legs stretched outward as far as she pleased.  Pod seemed as comfortable at his little table as Jaime, who was perched on the arm of his overstuffed chair.  The drink was called _Arbor red,_ Jaime explained; it was his younger brother’s favorite wine – or perhaps that was _Arbor gold_ , but Tyrion had not come along with the procession for Jaime to ask.  That was a much longer story that Jaime assured them was dull as dirt.  Not only would Tyrion miss the wedding, but he likely would not be talking to Jaime – or most of the Lannister family, if he had his way – anytime soon. Lady Cersei was unfriendly to elves, but Jaime explained how she was especially cruel to dwarves, Tyrion in particular, and Jaime had failed to protect him as he should. 

Brienne found that she did not mind when Jaime talked like this, about anything and everything he dared.  Perhaps he had shared most of these things with Tyrion, or wished to in his lonely absence and could not, but still Brienne did not mind.  Jaime solemnly explained to Pod his shortcomings when he had been a knight, and how there was now hardly use for them.  He spoke of how smart Tyrion was, a well-read child that loved dragons.  Everyone in the south knew that Santa Claus did not travel so far as to reach them, but Tyrion had hoped that if he were good enough, he might still be rewarded with a dragon, or a whistle, or anything at all.  ‘He would have been happy with any toy at all,’ Jaime said, until Cersei explained that even if they shipped Tyrion north, Santa and his elves did not make toys for little monsters.  Jaime hadn’t thought to say otherwise.

Brienne’s breath shuddered at the thought until Podrick suddenly stuttered that there was still time to set things right.  It was almost Christmas, and even without it, love and forgiveness would go a long way.  And, if that didn’t work, Lord Jaime had more than enough money to buy Lord Tyrion more wine.  He tried to emphasize the fun they might share by starting to sing, “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: a partridge in a pear tree!  On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree!”  Brienne never would have joined in, but someone had to keep Podrick on-key, and by the time they hit the crescendo of “five golden rings,” a wide-eyed Jaime had caught onto the song’s pattern and was singing as happily and louder than any of them.  

 “. . . Twelve drummers drumming, eleven pipers piping, ten lords a-leaping, nine ladies dancing, eight maids a-milking, seven swans a-swimming, six geese-a-laying, five _gol-den_ rings!  Four calling birds, three french hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree!”

They ended their song with near-breathless laughter and Jaime musing a plot to invite twelve drummers and eleven pipers to play at the wedding, and he could be one of the unruly ten lords.  Brienne blushed heavily when Jaime named her as one of the eight maids and then quickly tried to hush Podrick, who said she should be one of the nine ladies, instead. 

Jaime laughed at Pod’s suggestion, almost fondly.  “Lady Brienne of the Elvesguard… maiden and keeper of secret swords.  I’ll drink to that.”

Brienne sighed in relief, even as she watched Podrick pour himself another cup that he shouldn’t drink.  The wine was probably very expensive and something that he would likely never taste again, so Brienne did not chastise him.  She stretched out further, feeling for once comfortably warm. 

“It was her father’s.”

Brienne struggled to sit up properly as her throat constricted. A bemused smile passed over Jaime’s lips for a moment as they hovered over his cup.  Recognition came to his eyes, then a mixture of curiosity and pity.  “That rickety wooden thing?”

Podrick laughed hard, even as his brow furrowed.  “What? No! A real sword, like yours.” 

Jaime tilted his head in confusion. 

“You know, like a lord would have, I think? But she’s a— “

“Elf!” Brienne shouted, nearly upsetting her own cup in her effort to reach Podrick.  She was an elf.  It was a title that she had worked hard to earn, not something she was born with or a novelty. “Not- not an Elvesguard or sword-bearer, least of all a—“

“ _Snow_ ,” Pod finished in a determined voice.  “You may not know what Lady Cersei means by that word, but I do.  You do, too,” he then said to Jaime, who was no longer smiling.  

“Pod, please.”  Brienne began to feel nauseous.

“It’s not— _she_ wasn’ _t_ right.  S-so, I told her.  Someone had to.”

“Pod,” Jaime said this time, his voice low and careful.  He stole a glance at Brienne, still on the floor.  “What did you tell my sister?”

Pod shook his head and then spoke slowly in the tone he used when trying to instruct the younger elves. “I just asked her not to be so mean to _Lady_ Brienne.  If you like her, why can’t she?”

 

***       *       *       *       *       *  
**

 

Somehow, Father already knew, though Jaime wasn’t certain for how long.  It was like an uncanny sixth sense for the old man and Tyrion, to know things, and the only part of that gift Jaime received seemed to only work on the battlefield.  There was something particularly disconcerting about seeing Tywin Lannister and Stannis Baratheon sharing a table so easily, drawing up portions of land and holdings for themselves when they weren’t picking on innocent elves.  Brienne also sat at the table with her hands folded in her lap and shoulders pulled inward.  Jaime doubted she had any idea what was happening, how much longer it would continue, or why – only that it involved some great dishonor or other and no one here cared for her. Jaime had heard enough and spoke loudly enough to interrupt Stannis. “I mistook her as my Christmas present. Please, accept my apologies, _Lady_ Brienne.”  He fleetingly caught her gaze, her eyes bright and blue, wide and incredulous. They might have worked on another set of old, greedy men, if she knew how to use a woman's weapons; even so, Jaime knew she would never.

Stannis scowled.  “Forgive me, Lord Jaime, I find that hard to believe.”

“Were you even there, when we arrived at the capital?  Robert stood waiting to gift Cersei with a great golden sleigh, leaving only Renly, who presented me with a great golden elf.  I didn’t want to assume at first, but that very night Santa Claus, himself, sent the maiden-elf to my chambers, shaking so badly that she spilt her milk.”

Brienne began to look positively ill.  Stannis looked to Tywin, who in turn looked to everyone else with a disapproving gaze that began to steadily chill the room.  He turned to Brienne.  “I’m told you’re a horrible liar, meaning that you cannot,” he said as though speaking to a child. “You will tell me your intentions with my son.” 

Brienne gave a tremulous nod.

“I… It was an honor to watch your family arrive. Robert did send me, but I thought, I… the cookies were for Lady Cersei; it was my fault.  Ja—Lord Jaime sought me the next day only to ensure I had wits enough to defend my lady. Understandably, he loves her and does not wish to leave her unprotected.”

Jamie laughed.  “I sought Brienne. I took her right from under Robert’s Christmas tree, and we sparred in the woods until her maidenly blood stained the snow.  It was only from a blow to her nose, but—“

“Jaime!” Brienne cried.

“What do you want the girl to say?  She’s sorry that Robert’s lost his mind?  For knowing Renly never learned to fight? That Cersei doesn’t like her, but I do? Cersei doesn’t like Robert either.”

“Neither do you,” Stannis said. “Though the north, old and new, would disagree with your opinion, as would many southron houses.”

“Most of which are extinct.” Regardless, it didn’t matter what he thought of Robert Baratheon.

Stannis mouth began to slowly twist, turn upward.  “Brienne, tell Lord Jaime of House Tarth. It’s all right.”

Brienne looked pained, and it took her some time to speak. “I don’t remember Tarth; I’m told it was lost. I barely remember my father. He... we were sworn to Storm’s End, and he died with honor, sword-in-hand for the Baratheons. I would do the same, but there is no longer a need… in the North Pole.”

Jaime closed his eyes a moment to will away the ugly look he wished to give Stannis.  He spoke softly to Brienne, instead, calling her attention to the present. “Of course you would.  Your island is little more than a dwindling rock, but it is yours. Do you wish me to take you home, Brienne?”

She shook her head vigorously, those damned golden bells jingled about her neck like a noose.  She tested his lordly title like a bitter taste on her tongue.  “My duty is here.”  Jaime glowered at that.

“What shall you do here, my lady, re-decorate the tree on command? Guard Renly from the snowflakes? Have you ever met Loras Tyrell?  He, too, is a friend of Renly and wields a sword much better than you.”

Brienne was flushed, no doubt longing to use the fists he knew she held in her lap.  “I don’t only serve Renly.  Elves are sworn to help Santa Claus, his family, friends, and even his wife who has less than kind things to say about Loras Tyrell. He wouldn’t make half the effort to protect her I would!”

“Young lady,” Tywin said, and the room stopped in response.  He tested the title even as he regarded Brienne as though she were a counterfeit coin.  “A proper lady neither dresses nor acts like a fool. From now on, you shall act according to your station and, if it please her, attend my daughter. You are excused.”

“My lords,” Brienne managed and hurried to leave.  Jaime moved to follow.

“Not you,” Tywin said.  Jaime hesitated, and in that time, Brienne was gone, leaving him uncertain as to how much he wanted to follow her as, in a way, it was very much what he wanted. Instead, Jaime sat down again at the table.

 

***       *       *       *       *       *  
**

 

Brienne clenched her fists and marched forward down the hall. She knew that a proper lady should make haste if pursued by a stubborn and reckless lord, but she would not run.  Nevermind that Jaime’s words still haunted her, nearly all of them.  Still, she refused to glance behind to see if it truly was him on the eve of the wedding.

“Elf!” he called again.

The blood rushing in her ears had eclipsed the sound of his footfalls. She did not realize how close Jaime had come to her until she whirled about, and found him there.  Brienne doubted she would have stumbled backward, but Jaime grasped her arms to steady her, regardless. “Look at you,” he said, not unkindly, and then he was the one to take a step backward. She felt the drag of his fingers, heavy and warm, over the neutral-colored fabric of her plain dress.  It was a bothersome thing that wrapped about her ankles and left her neck feeling exposed, but the way that Jaime smiled in his appraisal of her felt like the sun.  “Bells did you no favors.”

Brienne flushed and knew he would see – could see more of it, now.  She tried not to frown because of it, then put another step or two between them, instead.  He allowed it. “Little ever has.  I thought you’d left.”  _Days ago. For good,_ she almost added.

“Without saying goodbye?  Surely you know me better.”  

Brienne laughed, a small sound but one she immediately covered with her large and freckled hand.  Jaime was aware of his words; they had met less than a fortnight ago – that was her problem, and she prayed to the spirits that Jaime would not sense her conflict.  She _had_ thought he left and had even mourned, in a way.  Seeing Jaime again only made Brienne more certain that the absurd sentiment would grow in his permanent absence.  She did not know when or for what reason she began to feel grateful each time the wedding suffered a minuscule delay, but it had only lasted until she learned that Lord Jaime would not stay to see his twin wed. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said with a small smile she did not intend, more gently than she should have.

Brienne hadn’t realized he was not wearing gloves, until he reached out again, his right carefully catching and holding her left.  It was warm.  Brienne could not feel any injury and did not look down to check because his eyes truly were as green as holly leaves, much prettier, in fact.  There was recognition in them of something that Jaime seemed to understand, and she had to look away.  Brienne didn’t want to know what Jaime saw when he looked at her. 

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” he asked. Brienne’s breath caught, and she had to look then, had to understand.  “About the evil, battle-worn south?  Why the stars you hang are seven-pointed, what duties we share? Do you find us so terrible, elf, is that why you won’t see me?”

Brienne shook her head, lost and frustrated.  She hadn’t gone anywhere.  They said he left, and even so, even if this was all a dream, she would never know what to say. For these reasons, she spoke slowly to him.  “I am to stay by Lady Cersei’s side.  If your father knew—“

“My father,” Jaime said with a small, rueful laugh, “he’s the one you listen to.  Cersei did not refuse your service, then? Think, Brienne, what use could she ever have of you?”

“I told you, I will do my duty.  I… I suggest you go find yours.”

Brienne held Jaime’s gaze as it turned hard with winter frost, then looked away.  She could scarcely remember the remainder of her walk to her chambers.  It was only until she shut her door behind her that she allowed herself to be foolish, to mourn the loss of a man she barely understood and for better or for worse, Brienne had begun to believe there were no other men, north or south, like Jaime.  She did not know why she felt disappointed, rather than grateful. 

 

***       *       *       *       *       *  
**

 

No one but Podrick was saddened to learn of his departure, though Jaime’s grimace to the fact was somewhat softened by the fact that the shy lad had made it a point to shyly tell him so.  The air was thick and cold just yesterday, heavy with snow, Pod warned, and with that Jaime could not resist saying his own goodbyes and offering words of encouragement in that he was now without a fighting teacher – words of consolation the lad had only spoken the truth.  Jaime had thought the sugar-coated north would treasure wholesome honesty. Unwittingly, his thoughts drifted to Cersei.  Just as swiftly, he shook his head in an effort to rid himself of the burden.  Even under the best of circumstances, there could never have been a proper goodbye between them, let alone one that would not end in a far-cry from the pleasure and love they once shared. A small part of him whispered that Cersei would be incapable, even without the fog of her bridal influence.  She accused him of forsaking her, conspiring with father, favoring the company of a common whore.  Jaime had held little doubt that Cersei spoke of guileless Brienne, which had spurred him to walk away, unwilling to do something at least one of them would regret.  

When Jaime laid his head down the past evening, he had dreamt of deep blue eyes, stolen smiles, and the kindness freely offered in both. He dreamt of the petty and overshadowing battles of the south, which had begun before they were born, and then of the fragile peace that followed and left no place for kings or their guard.  He dreamt of a little blonde girl in an otherwise quiet hall, pushing at the door her father had defended with his sword and now blocked with his corpse.  He dreamt of Brienne in the snow as he would like to remember her, with nearly a smile curving her lips as they sparred.  Jaime dreamt of Brienne unmoving in the snow, the color of her skin slowly matching that of her closed eyes and of Cersei kissing his own numb lips to commemorate the sight below them.  He had woken this morning with an inexplicable heaviness in his chest as he looked to the otherwise unremarkable snow outside his window. Jaime did not bring his sword or armor with him, as he walked towards the Peppermint Woods.  Once he traveled so far, he thought he could hear wedding bells in the distance and mused that the celebration may have already begun, which could be why there was not a soul about.  Jaime quickened his pace against the slow, fat flakes that spat at his cheeks and clung to his cloak, until he nearly slid into the clearing.  His breath came in harsh, white plumes as he surveyed the area, which was silent as the grave until he saw her; then it shuddered.

“What in the seven hells are you doing here?”

Jaime went to the big, stupid, no-longer-an-elf that sat huddled in the mercy of a simple blue gown on her frost-covered log.  Her hair was damp and limp, her hands were tucked beneath the elbows of the arms she’d wrapped about herself for warmth, no mittens.  She looked up to him with disbelief in her pretty blue eyes and her cheeks stained a painful-looking red, and Jaime growled. “You’re freezing, get up.” 

Brienne slowly shook her head.  She made no move to take the hand he extended down to her.  “We thought you’d gone,” she said.   

“You are not so large that I cannot lift you, if needs be, Brienne.  We’re already late.”

Just when Jaime thought he may have to do just that, the stubborn woman began to leverage herself upwards with bare hands against the snowy log.  He took a step backward to allow the movement until she stood.  Jaime considered taking her elbow to link with his own to lead her the way he had seen men in the village escort the women but thought better of it.  Instead, he wrapped a firm arm about her waist and gently tugged to see if Brienne would follow.  If she ran from him in fright, Jaime resolved to simply chase her back towards town, warmth, and proper lodging.

Brienne did not run, though as they walked Jaime thought it might have been easier to lead the dead weight of the log back to Santa's Keep instead.  When Brienne realized where they were going, she tested the strength of his hold with an experimental tug.  This time, he would not yield. “Y-you said you would not see your sister marry.”

Jaime scowled at the memory.  “You swore that you would not leave my sister’s side.  What of that?”

Whether Brienne shook from insult or the cold, he did not know.  He adjusted his hold in case Brienne thought to strike him, but all that came from her shivers was a dry laugh that turned into a cough. She told him, then, how well cared-for Cersei had been and would be, how beautiful she looked in her glistening gown; but how she had dismissed Brienne from her service this morning: _“You want him so badly?  Go find him.  See that you don’t return, until you do.”_

Brienne had no intention of returning until nightfall, and only then to gather her wits, decide what she should do.  Jaime could feel her gaze on him now, burning with questions for which he did not know the answer and was too tired to chance a guess.  But, gods, he believed her.  “Then, you’ve fulfilled your duty,” he simply said. 

“No, I knew better than to look, but you came back.  To the woods.  Why?”

Jaime sighed, doubtful she would believe a truth he barely understood and could not explain.  What he could offer her was not what she asked, but neither was it a lie. “I should not have left as I did, and hope that we are still friends.  I would like for you to accompany me to the wedding, my lady.”

Brienne rooted her feet so abruptly to the ground that Jaime had no choice but to do the same or else they would both topple over.  “I… I’ve seen enough to know you love her, but are not cruel.  Tell me she did not send you, that this is not further punishment.”

Jaime’s eyes softened, and he pitied her then.  He shook his head at her fears and the odd ache in his chest that her innocent conviction provoked.  “You have my word.  You have done – _we_ have done nothing wrong.  You worked as hard as anyone to prepare for the ceremony; you should be there.”

When they arrived, Jaime thought that any woman would have called the converted workshop beautiful.  White poinsettias filled the room garnished with delicately draped garlands.  The large tree had been changed one final time, silver and white.  The only hint of their tradition was the seven-pointed star that sat atop the highest bow, no doubt meaningless to the majority in attendance.  It was a northern event, through and through.  Podrick had tried to explain the rituals to him once: children to throw petals at the bride’s feet, the exchange of hand-written vows, an exchange of two golden rings – not five – and none of it had made sense to him. Jaime looked to Brienne who, like all other guests, watched beautiful Cersei standing to face Robert on her dais with a look that he could not easily describe.  Briefly, Jaime wondered what Brienne might think of the south, if she could grow to understand their own sacred customs, the games they played.  He hoped, at the very least, Brienne might be taught how to recognize if someone mistook her for a player, given Cersei’s contempt for the girl.  Truthfully, neither of them belonged here.

Jaime did not realize how closely he still held Brienne until a shudder wracked her snow-dampened form, and she dared to sneeze.Although they stood so far back, a sea of people separating Jaime and Brienne from the beautiful winter bride, Jaime knew that Cersei heard.  It was almost imperceptible, how she carefully she tilted her golden head so that she could regally survey her subjects with sharp eyes until her gaze stopped and went cold.  Cersei's gaze whispered the words she had spoken to him just days ago with mad conviction: _fool, traitor, whore..._ He felt Brienne begin to shrink away from him in embarrassment, apologizing for her insignificant noise, heedless of how closely the Lannister twins watched her. In his heart, Jaime realized that he and Cersei could still agree that this large, lumbering elf did not belong here.  It was a thought that brought him an unexpected and inexplicable feeling of peace, as something tremulous and warm had, at some point this season, taken root without his notice or permission.  Brienne did not belong here, but neither did he, and just then it almost felt like hope to remember how very little Brienne knew of the south. 

As Robert unfurled a parchment of wedding vows to brush the top of his polished boots, Jaime began to unfasten his cloak and whisper to his lady-elf.  "I'll not leave you to freeze."

Brienne looked to him curiously, her cheeks still flushed, hair still a mess, and her eyes still beautiful, even in her guileless gratitude. She shyly looked away but did not refuse him.  And so, as Robert prattled away, Jaime held Cersei's burning green gaze as he draped his fine red cloak over Brienne's shoulders with care. 

"We should find Pod," he again whispered to her rounded ear and allowed himself a smile at how she wiggled unexpectedly in his grasp.  "He told me of a hot chocolate drink, once.  Would you like to go?" 

Brienne extricated herself carefully as she considered his words, then gave him a tentative smile to match his own.  "Follow me."


	3. Golden Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can I say but they wanted to wait until Spring for their last chapter / nearly an epilogue? This and thank you to poor Wide-eyes and Siggie for a long list of things -- and by those rights, I must add most of JBO and Sugarplum the cat.

Tyrion gave a long-suffering sigh and reached for the flagon, an undeserved but golden flag of truce he'd presented to Jaime earlier. “All right, then.  Have you thought about sending a bird?”

Jaime gave a solemn nod, his brow furrowed.  “A partridge.”

“A partridge,” Tyrion repeated slowly, deliberately re-filling Jaime’s chalice no more than half-way.  “A bit miserly for the Lannister heir, don’t you think?” His brother appraised him in a way he'd thought only Father could, before breathing deeply enough to puff-out his cheeks and then exhaling slowly. “Skip ahead to the three fat hens. Invite your sweet maid to our humble Rock, and we’ll have a family meal of honeyed chicken.”  Jaime gave him a brittle smile, and Tyrion continued, his lighter eye twinkling with unholy amusement, “You used to look at me like that whenever I dared question our sweet sister’s honor.  How fortunate for Father.  If you would but ask, he’s like to say yes.”

“Tyrion,” Jaime warned.

“Fortunate for me, too, I suppose," Tyrion mused. " Even as a child, I never wished Cersei away; though one year I did wish for Santa to bring me a sister with a shred of kindness in her heart for little monsters such as myself.”

"Tyrion," Jaime repeated, more softly.

Tyrion waved dismissively.  “I was always a Lannister, not some tender-hearted elf stripped of my bells and broadsword, which I suspect my new squire is hiding under his bedding for the sole daughter and heir of the quite honorable and dead Lord Selwyn Tarth.  They’re shipping her back from Highgarden, did you know?”

Jamie shook his head.  He'd allowed his elf to follow the closest thing to family that she could recall, from that frost-bitten nightmare they’d called home to the bower of Renly’s flowery knight Loras, both of them secretly convinced they were guarding the other.  It had required more patience than Jaime thought he possessed not to follow, though Highgarden was both the softest and safest place for them to rest and thaw.  “Not back north,” he said, certain of that fact; they wouldn’t dare.  

“No, you fool. To return your cloak and swear once more, this time to our lord father, to your upmost honor and innocence in this… unexpectedly romantic...”  Tyrion drained the remaining contents of his chalice to drown what he might have said otherwise.  “The virtuous heir of the quite honorable and dead Lord Selwyn Tarth.  I told you, if you would but ask—“

Jaime’s chair screeched against stone as he hastily bid his sweet brother a hasty farewell.  

 

***       *       *       *       *       ***

  

Brienne’s eyes were a more brilliant blue than Jaime remembered, ever-shifting like the sea, from docile to furious whenever Jaime caught her gaze from across the table.  She sat silently at the side of Olenna Tyrell, who had accompanied her grandson, given his ridiculous vow to never again leave the side of his darling Renly, even on this delicate mission of mercy. Jaime could practically feel Tyrion’s knowing gaze at his side and did his best to ignore; hardly anyone aside from Father and the aptly named Queen of Thorns cared to speak, making it nearly a Lannister family dinner after all.

The tedious event ended when the heads of the houses dismissed the silly children under themselves to conspire.  Jaime followed Brienne, uncaring that it might be expected of him this time, though grateful no one was foolish enough to question him.  He trailed her at a leisurely pace as she traveled down one expansive hall, took a wrong turn down another, pretending she did not hear his footfalls, calm and steady, behind her.

“You were right,” Jamie called to her, once she appeared to be hopelessly lost and they were thoroughly alone.  Brienne whirled to face him with flushed cheeks and parted lips, which she then pressed together, examining him warily, though he had spoken truthfully.  Brienne had been right about many things, the foremost being that Cersei hated the girl.  As long as Cersei lived, she could never return to the North Pole, though that suited Jaime just fine and might one day suit his elf.  “I am sorry for what has befallen you, Brienne, but is it all so terrible?”

“You’ve all gone mad,” she said and stared at him with wide blue eyes.  “Do you know what Renly said to Stannis before he abandoned his home in the North Pole? ‘It appears I am brother to the _King_ and, as such, I can choose my own company.’”

A half smile – Jaime couldn’t help himself.  “Choosing you proves him mad?”

“That’s not what-- he had no choice, Jaime!” Brienne sputtered in a way that Jaime had never seen from that gentle twisting of her words.

Renly had fled in order to pursue his own happiness in Loras Tyrell’s arms; the only thing Brienne had to do with it was that Renly had leveraged her loyalty in asking her to follow, had leveraged his young friend’s sense of honor in order to spare her life.  Jaime thought that he should inform Brienne that it was the least Renly could have done to repay her for a lifetime of friendship and loyalty, but he had learned to sometimes hold his tongue. 

"No, I suppose not," Jaime said.   He could not say exactly when he moved to grasp her, however gently. Her hand was as large as his own, but her fingers were slender, feminine. Inexplicably, Brienne allowed him to hold her in this small way and discover that her skin, the back of her hand, was cooler under his lips than one would expect in a southern climate.  “I asked after you, before I left.  Would you like to know what your sweet Renly said to me, then?”

Jaime was beginning to find that Brienne’s blue eyes somehow made speaking odd truths more bearable.  He could only hope that Brienne found some similar and unexpected comfort from some portion of himself, as she watched with an unwavering gaze but the slightest tremble to her bottom lip.  He resisted against taking a step further or pulling her into his arms at the sight.

“He vowed to protect your tender heart from my devious secret, long as he could, and find you an honorable place among the gentle, tittering ladies of his lover’s garden. I told him I would allow—I told him that he could try.”

Brienne quickly pulled her hand away, even as her plain face carefully scoured him for traces of sincerity.  Jaime then watched her slowly school the uncertainty in her expression into something more neutral.   “If this is true… why did _you_ not speak with me?  Why do you… why now?”

Although he spoke the truth, Jaime chose his words carefully.  “Even then, you would not have believed me.  I had scarcely been able to understand it, myself – better to pray you might keep…  Do you truly wish to return my cloak?”

Jaime steeled himself against her impending answer, against the urge to prematurely fight for what he could now so easily feel.  Did she not…?  A terrible moment of silence passed as Brienne’s eyelashes fluttered, and then she looked at him as she had back in the peppermint forest and within the pale reflections of his dreams.  “You honor me to wear it.”

“ _You’ve_ gone mad,” Brienne whispered with a sweet maid’s concern. “Some sort of sickness from the snow…”

Jaime shook his head.  “It’s been the better part of a year, and that long since we’ve seen one another.  You should stay, Brienne – here, with any visitors you please, and I will keep my father from you as much as I am able. Even he cannot live forever, though he would disagree."

“Jaime!”

 _Her father_ , Jaime reminded himself and did his best to look chastened.  Jaime pondered how much Brienne might already understand of his own family, how much she could.  The Lannisters were still a house to be feared, one which many a trampled lord had likened to a pretty weed, having siphoned valuable resources and having cut short some of the garden’s largest and brightest flowers.  Brienne was no great beauty but a bloom all the same, having just emerged from her protective blanket of snow when there were so few true blossoms left to pluck.  Tyrion saw such circumstances as luck, as much for Brienne as anyone else, and Jaime had to admit that his brother was not entirely wrong.

Brienne’s last name was not famous, but it was old enough and honorable.  Her island was little more than a deserted rock, but it was still land that she could still claim.  She was much larger than one would expect as the treasure the last Evenstar had protected with his last breath, but her body was strong.  She was the childhood friend of Renly Baratheon, who was not only a now a Lannister goodbrother but also beloved to the Tyrell’s precious heir. While his Tywin Lannister did not entertain gossip, Jaime knew his father had inevitably heard the whispers about his own children, and the mere fact that Brienne was an eligible maiden might have been enough to allow the Lannister heir’s growing fascination with the forcibly retired elf.

And, if Jaime wasn’t mistaken, his affections did not appear to be unrequited.

“Shall I have Pod fetch your sword?  No matter your answer, I will at least see to it that you will never need to hide again.”

“I have never hidden.  I served Lord Renly, even your sister as asked, until dismissed,” Brienne snipped, then paused, with a creased brow.  She watched Jaime uncertainly, spoke slowly. “She is not kind.  She… I cannot speak to her honor, only yours, which compelled you to my rescue. I am grateful, and so I have told of your true nature to all who have asked me, but to keep the cloak would only further deceive...  I cannot allow it.”

“By the gods, elf, what am I to do?”  Jaime raked his hand through his hair. “I cannot leave you, lest you swear your life away to another. I cannot keep you with me, as you say honor has made liars of us both, and I will not force you.”

“As though you could!  I do not need your cloak or protection; I don’t _want_ anything from you, no matter what your family thinks!  _You_ are honorable; _you_ know the importance of a blade; I came from Highgarden because _you_ asked.  I just want _you_!”

Brienne's words echoed only in Jaime's mind, but it was enough.  He did not know how he looked to her then.  Jaime shrugged, his breath half stolen as he was helpless under the weight of such blue eyes, even in such a flushed face that only grew darker the longer they stared at one another.  "You have me.  If you so choose.  No one will question us, now.”

Brienne nearly trembled.  “Your lord father—“

“Agrees that you do not deserve to be passed from lord to lady like some highborn servant.  He will not interfere as I ask you again to prolong your visit.  I thought I might show you the sea, properly introduce you to Tyrion.  I thought you might like…”

The blink of an eye was all the time it took Jaime to recall his first proper meeting with Brienne, her speed in tackling him to the frozen ground warring with the burst of heat he had felt from the continued kissing of their swords.  He was still unprepared for Brienne’s first true kiss, as chaste as she was quick and searing the side of his right cheek.

Brienne was so red that she nearly glowed, but she stood her ground.  “That means I accept.  Up north,” she clarified.  I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

She made a soft noise as Jaime carefully guided her lips to his own.  They were soft, full, and sweeter than any Christmas-time candy.  As they pulled apart, Jaime could feel a surprising warmth that nestled within his chest, just under where Brienne's hand rested, neither of them making any move to leave him.  Brienne gently rekindled the kiss, and Jaime knew they had reached a new understanding, one which had him purring against Brienne’s lips as she stepped closer into his arms, even as she drew him further into his own.  It felt like love.


End file.
